


Things That Make You Go ‘Um?’ In An Alarmed Tone

by B_Sullivan_MD



Category: Beydan - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 22:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Sullivan_MD/pseuds/B_Sullivan_MD
Summary: I rewrote it b/c...I did not like it anymore please clap





	1. Let Me See Now, Who’s Got The Fever

Beyoncé’s been in New York for a good three months and while she doesn’t think she will ever really consider it home, there are parts she’s coming to like. She likes how busy it is, how there’s no quiet moments. Beyoncé’s not a person who needs to be alone with her thoughts all the time, she finds her thoughts very strenuous actually. She doesn’t like that she’s been sold the narrative that New York is a place ample with opportunity and so far...it’s been fairly inaccurate. She can’t be too sure. She hasn’t exactly been auditioning for anything but that’s because she doesn’t really know what to audition for. Her vision of her career path has always been cloudy at best. She sings, she dances, she acts, she does hair, she designs and sews. She likes too many things, she’s good at too many things, she’s burdened with possibility, actually, no one here has seen that yet. 

She has a good job now, a sales associate at Barneys and she’s been trying to capitalize off of the wealthy clientele. Singing as she takes the measurements of anyone who just _ looks _ connected. It worked when she was small, forcing her mother’s company to listen to her sing and demanding payment afterwards is how she got into pageants. She has a room filled with trophies and sashes in her mother's apartment and a little reward money still saved up. Unfortunately, it’s not as fruitful an effort at 21 as it was when she was 9 but that hasn’t slowed her down yet. She’s very persistent and from what she’s been told, annoyingly optimistic, almost erring on the side of naive.

She’s folding shirts and out the corner of her watching the man browsing neckties. She has to think about how she’s going to get him to a dressing room or some secluded area. She clears her throat and reminds herself of the words to SWV’s Weak.

She feels someone tap her on the shoulder, way harder than a tap should be, like if she didn’t know any better she’d think someone whacked her. She turns around and it’s her coworker Maya, who corners rich men for a very different but not that different reason, and it’s settled then that she got whacked.

“What?”

“That weirdo broadway shit you’re about to do? Don’t do it.”

Beyoncé’s mouth dropped open. “That’s very rude.” She doesn’t like this part of New York.

“You’re harassing people.”

“No I’m not! You harass people.”

“Men like when I do it, everyone loves a potential model, nobody likes when you do it. People do that on the train every day, nobody cares. Stop it.”

“I wasn’t gonna do anything.” Her shoulders slump and her head bows meekly, she’s hoping Maya will turn away before necktie man gets any closer to the front.

“Okay then, let me take him, if you weren’t gonna do anything.”

Maya is a beautiful girl, her eyes are big, a dark honey brown, with thick eyebrows and a round face. She has the body Beyoncé wants and she models in the same way Beyoncé sings; in theory. Sometimes, Beyoncé wonders why they’re not closer as friends, beautiful people tend to gravitate to beautiful people but she isn’t wondering at the moment. “Fine.”

Maya approaches him and makes conversation, talking him into at least trying on a suit. He looks in her direction and says something to Maya before she nods and ushers him into the fitting room, where they chat too quiet for her to make out. Beyoncé watches the door with white knuckles until she has enough and edges closer to them. A song on her heart that she cannot keep quiet. She hears it then, him asking Maya where the sound is coming from and him sticking his head out from behind the curtain.

Beyoncé tries to look natural, pretending to fix hangers, still singing.

“Excuse me, miss?” His voice is low but very insistent and she notes that he’s actually really handsome.

“Oh! Yes? Did I disturb you? I sing so much I don’t even notice when I do it.” She says, avoiding eye contact with Maya and making direct eye contact with him because she read in a marketing book one time that it’s a great way to market yourself.

“I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“Hm?”

“I’m asking you to stop singing, it’s rude.”

Her smile drops. “Well God, sorry.”

He gets loud and almost stereotypically Italian-American. “And now you use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Sir, I attended a very strong southern baptist church, I KNOW the Lord, we’re very close friends and I call my friends by their first names.”

“That’s cute. I’m catholic.”

“How unfortunate.”

They stare at each other with squinting eyes and tight jaws until Maya breaks the silence.

“So...Chris, here was telling me about a party at his job tonight and he was nice enough to invite us.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Us?”

“I can’t go alone. I won’t go alone.”

Beyoncé gets a little annoyed at this point because there’s no way he seriously considers Maya more pleasant as a person. She plays it off with a shrug, “Eh, Sounds lame.”

“You’re lame and you’re lucky I’m a chivalrous, God-fearing, polite man because anyone else would rescind that invitation.”

“How do you rescind something you never said? You know what—,” Maya grabs her by the arm and pulled her to the side, mumbling in her ear.

“Have you considered all the loaded, drunk people that are gonna be there?”

Beyoncé’s eyes go big, cornering an unsuspecting man in a fitting room is one thing, a group of them is a lot to wrap her mind around. “A whole room of rich men that have connections?”

“And girls.” Maya adds.

“Okay, don’t be ridiculous Maya, women don’t belong in the corporate workplace.”

“It’s the 90s Beyoncé, women can do anything but become president.”

“Nor can they drive all that well.” Chris stands edging into their two-woman huddle and Beyoncé reminds herself to look at the bigger picture: Broadway...maybe, or something in that area.

“I have just the sweater for you.”

Chris calls a town car and when he thinks Beyoncé isn’t looking he admires himself in the mirror. The sweater she pulled really complimented his skin tone. She adds that mentally to her list of gifts.

They still have to close the store so he writes down the address and Maya exchanges numbers with him, Beyoncé doesn’t get asked to but she wouldn’t anyways because first of all, she doesn’t have a cell phone and secondly, she’s not one-hundred percent sure he’s not some maniac killer, posing as a Italian American man climbing corporate America. Maya hands her a short, black, Anne Klein dress off of a hanger once he leaves.“Try this on.”

She starts to sweat simply holding it. It costs as much as her rent. “...Why?”

“You’re not going wearing that. You look like a K-Mart catalogue woman.” Maya never has this issue, she dresses like she’s going to a party every day because the self-help tapes she listens to always advise that you dress for the job you want.

Beyoncé looks down at her outfit, a nice button down and a modest but age appropriate skirt.

“What’s wrong with K-Mart?” She got her shoes from there.

“I’m not dignifying that with a response. Put this on.”

“This is stealing.” Beyoncé says, pulling the dress up over her hips, it’s the scariest part because she’s torn many, many seams this way.

“Is it cute on you?”

“A little.” She pulls it up over her chest and feels a small pang of anxiety. Not because she’s committing theft. This dress has no straps and she knows the thin cotton material of her bra would not go well with the look she’s trying to pull. She’d have to go without a bra on but no bra means there’s nothing for her to stuff a sock into.

Maya knocks at the door. “Let me see.”

“I cannot wear this dress.” Beyoncé sounds broken and defeated.

“Why not?”

“As you may have noticed, I am not blessed in the chest.”

The door to the fitting room gets yanked violently, the tiny lock making a weird clicking sound and then Maya’s standing in front of Beyoncé, stunned into silence, clutching her bare chest.

“Stop fucking around and put the damn dress on.”

“I—“

“Bitch, wear a jacket! You find a way out of everything.” Maya says the last part under her breath and it’s a little unfair because if that was the case Beyoncé would be single right now.

“How would you know?”

“Who cancels every plan we make?”

Beyoncé reflects very quickly on all her various excuses. “Okay, me but I really do have autumn allergies though?”

“You’re bringing your congested ass to this party in this dress and that’s final.”

“You’re very bossy.”

“You’re very boring.” Maya takes her hand. “I’m going to tape your little boobies so you can look pretty and get moderately famous for a night.”

She frowns but within minutes, Maya has made her semi-B cups seem like decent C’s using only packing tape and a prayer.

Beyoncé pivots around in the mirror, admiring the soft soft metallic pink in her makeup and sensible look of maturity that her knit jacket, regardless of what Maya says, complimented the outfit and did not look stupid. “I look hot.”

“Can we go now?”

They hail a cab to address written on the receipt. Beyoncé, despite Maya’s visibly thinning patience, serenades the driver with her special rendition of New York, New York. He likes it! She gets called a very talented girl and she doesn’t say it because she doesn’t use that type of language usually but Maya can suck it.

They discuss her career path and he mentions she’d make a good lounge singer.

“You know Sergio? I don’t even care what kind of gig I get as long as it’s exciting.” She says that part pointedly, Maya calling her boring is still stinging a bit.

They get out on the sidewalk of a busy street, she squints and cranes her neck trying to read the numbers on the buildings.

Maya stops in front of a particularly tall one, figures of people can be seen smoking out of the windows, loud music flooding into the street. “We need to talk strategy.”

“Of course.”

“You do your singing thing and then men that aren’t interested you send my way so my looks can do the talking. Sound good?”

“I think you’re going to be very disappointed because what I’m gonna do is very interesting but sure.”

Maya calls Chris and he gives her the code to the door and Beyoncé can’t help but roll her eyes at how, suddenly, her Queens accent has been toned down and now she’s a sweet polite girl with manners.

The lock clicks and Beyoncé steadies herself before pulling the door open. This has a strong possibility of being her moment, the one she’d recall in her autobiography later where her whole life changed. The lobby is quiet, an empty receptionist desk, a few cushiony seats, a beautiful rug. There’s a few well dressed people tucked into corners having quiet conversations with drinks in their hands.

She could almost abandon ship to people watch, that’s another one of her hobbies but she never gets to do it anymore. She gets pushed inside an elevator by Maya just as she was beginning to make note of the interior design of the place, which she’d need for her autobiography but more presently, her diary.

They go up several floors and when the doors open it’s…chaotic. It’s a sea of bodies, a mass of them, all damp with sweat. The adrenaline seeps off of them, so palpable Beyoncé feels like she can breathe it. Her ears start to ache at the volume of the music. Her dream isn’t all that worth it anymore, the humidity of the room is making the packing tape wrapped around her slip loose. She turns to tell Maya this and she’s gone from her side. She wanders deeper into the crowd, between people she can see desks that have been up against the wall.

She feels someone pulling at her and before she swings wildly at her surroundings she hears Maya’s voice.

“Bey, I found somebody we kinda know.”

She’s got her arm draped around an almost ridiculously tall man. She recognizes his features, his full lips, his dark brown eyes and his full cheeks, knows that she’s seen him at her job before but she can’t recall a name.

She knows she’s staring and making the moment awkward but a lot is occurring in her world right now and he’s distractingly pretty.

He offers her his hand to shake. “I’m Majid.”

She shakes it politely, almost as if she’s scared to touch him. “Beyoncé.”

“I like that name.”

“Oh, really? It’s creole. It was my mother’s last name first but the—” Maya bumps her shoulder.

“Okay, he doesn’t wanna hear about your fake french bullshit name. He’s a busy man.”

Beyoncé realizes how long she’s been holding his hand and lets him go.

He smiles, dimples appear, it’s beautiful. “Cold hands.”

“Sorry.” She pushes a wayward curl behind her ear. “I’ve seen you in the store, right?”

He squints, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, you must work in the back.”

“No, not really—”

“You’ve got the nicest Barneys I’ve ever been to. A+ customer service. Every single time.”

“I do take a lot of pride in my work.”

He’s quiet for a second and then he nods. “Yeah, where do you work?”

Beyoncé blinks and peels off her sweater to tie around her waist. “Barneys?”

“You do? I’ve never seen you before, you must work in the back.” She looks to Maya to confirm they’d had this conversation only seconds ago and she gets a shrug in return. Her hand placed on Majid’s chest.

“No...I’m in the front.”

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Beyoncé? We had, like, a really good conversation about it earlier.”

“I’m Majid–”He hugs Maya a little closer, “–and you’re Maya.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He says something low into Maya’s ear and they giggle obnoxiously before Maya grabs her wrist.

“Go wait for me by the bar.”

She scans the room to sure enough spot a bar on the far side of the room,“What?”

“I’ll be quick. Just go wait for me.”

Beyoncé is almost glad for it, she was beginning to feel like a third wheel but now she was worse off, a lonely wheel, swirling around a tiny bottle of Jack Daniel’s she’d snuck from behind the bar when she found it unattended.

The night has so far been a bust, her feet hurt, the tape in her dress is now essentially just wet plastic, it’s way too loud for her to possibly sing over the noise without a mic and she can’t find a damn mic. She contemplates leaving, Maya’s been gone an exceptionally long time and she’s a crafty girl, smart enough to check for Beyoncé in the lobby.

She tucks an extra bottle into the free space of the bust-line of her dress and goes off to find the nearest exit.

She navigates through a rambunctious group of men cheering on another man as he does the worm, ripping his shirt in the process, she finds the trick is to stay over, near the wall but not to close or else you’ll get pinned. The elevator doors slide open and she rushes on. As disappointed as she is, she hasn’t forgotten her manners so when a nice looking guy waves at her to hold the door, she finds it in her heart to do it.

They’re on the 7th floor, she hits the main floor button and pushes herself into the corner. She feels the strangers eyes on her and contemplates heavily if she should start singing out loud in this elevator. She can’t see his face but it doesn’t feel like he turns away or even blinks.

She looks. On accident, it’s a reflex more than anything and she quickly snaps her line of sight back where it belongs, the ugly pattern on the floor.

“It’s one thing to steal from me but it’s another not to speak to me.”

She pointedly refuses to look now, out of embarrassment more than anything. “Hm?”

“You stole something, didn’t you?”

She shakes her head. “No. Wrong person.”

“You’re allowed to look at me.”

“I know.” His voice is much deeper than she would like to admit, it has a warm syrupy quality to it.

“Then why are you going out of your way to not look at me?”

“Because I don’t want you getting any wrong ideas.”

“From...eye contact?”

She nods matter-of-factly. “It’s very intimate.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t play that.” She remembers that peripheral vision exists and subtly checks him out that way. He leans against the wall opposite her, one foot crossed behind the other, his hair is dark, grown past his ears and lightly slicked with gel. It’s very Uncle Jesse and she would know because she has a very nice collection of John Stamos posters in her room back at her mother’s place. The most noticeable thing is his eyebrows, they’re full, dark and very pleasing to her.

“You don’t find side eye intimate?”

“It’s not side eye, it’s a peripheral glance in your direction.”

He smiles at her and she spots dimples, being masked by facial hair. “At this point, I would assume you’re undressing me in your head.”

“Don’t you wish.”

“Were very off subject, you stole from me.”

“I cannot believe I’m getting interrogated by a bartender for something I did not do.”

“...A Bartender.”

“Whoever, I’m not a thief.”

“It’s sticking out of your dress.”

She looks down at her chest and sure enough, the little black screw-on top is poking out. “Oh. this? I brought it from home.”

The doors to the elevator slide open and she quickly makes her exit with him on her heels.

“I’d like you to pay me back.”

“You think if I had money I’d be stealing? Everybody steals a little bit, that’s life.”

“All this from someone who’s too scared to look at me.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to look at you.”

His voice takes a softer turn as his footsteps stop keeping pace with hers and she finds a seat on a cushioned bench. “I’m looking at you,” he offers, “-and I think you’re a real looker.”

She turns to face him, sticks a finger into her mouth and pretends to gag, rolling her eyes.

“It got you to look.”

“Whatever.”

“Do I make you feel shy?”

He does, so much that Beyoncé doesn’t want to find out why. “You don’t. I’m just not interested.”

“In what?”

“You.”

“You’re too good for a bartender then?”

“I’m too good for a bartender that chases down a beautiful, independent, sweet, good-hearted woman over a simple bottle of Jack Daniels in her time of need.”

“So, if I wasn’t a bartender?”

“I guess we’ll never know.” She crosses her arms, both to finish her statement and because she sees that he has an earring in his right ear and that makes her very, very upset.

“Let’s find out.” He takes off his jacket and throws it over his shoulder the way, a young John Travolta would and sits next to her. His shirt is black and short sleeved. His arms a bit stronger looking than she would’ve liked, preferably, he’d be unattractive. Preferably, he would not smell so pleasant.

“Wait, you have a little smudge.” His brows knit together and it makes her realize she’s been staring at him very hard and holding her breath for a good while.

“Where?”

“Your lip.”

She swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Gone?”

“Still there. Do you want me to…?”

She nods, her throat feels dry so words fail her. He takes his thumb and wipes gently at her cupids bow and then brushes his thumb against his shirt.

“What was it?”

“Stolen merchandise.”

Her brown eyes find his blue-ish or green-ish ones and she gets...mad. She wants to fight him almost because now it feels intimate. He made it that way, she figures, on purpose.

“You’re terrible.”

“If I was so terrible I would make you pay me back.”

“You can’t make me do anything sir, this is america.”

“That’s what you think.”

“You’re gonna tell your boss on me? I’m terrified.”

His eyes crinkle when he laughs and that’s annoying. “I am my boss.”

“You have a boss and I’m gonna tell him that you’re hitting on me during your peak work hours.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!”

“Ma’am, I am not a bartender.”

“Then who the heck are you?”

“Jordan.”

She turns her eyes up to the ceiling, “Excuse my implied language, Lord: Who the bleep is that?”

His smile slowly disappears and his eyes narrow. “Jordan Sullivan.”

“I don’t know who that is, sorry.”

“It’s me.”

“Okay. I’m not sure why that’s important.”

“This is my party, this is my building.”

“Oh yeah? I’m a queen in Egypt, would you, by chance, like to buy a river there?”

“Come on, you must know a little about me,” He crosses his arms, smiles mischievously and rolls his eyes playfully, “The late 70s to the early 80s, I’m the adorable son of a handsome but morally questionable billionaire. He’s had 3 kids, I’m the cutest one.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, a few years later, late 80s, early 90s, my college days, I’m our of boarding school, I have a little mullet, I’m crushing girls, left and right, living wild and free, essentially the king of Staten Island, the boys and I get matching earrings. My mom cries about it on national television with Sally Jesse Raphael.”

Beyoncé shakes her head. “Maybe if it were Oprah...”

“Okay then, now, mid 90s, Billionaire father? He’s out, I’m in and I’m laying down my playboy ways. I’m still dating but I’m searching for serious relationships now. I’m showing my more sensitive side. I throw a wild party here and there.”

“It seems that way.” She can’t shed the edge of disbelief in her voice and he picks up on it.

“Watch this.” He pulls her over to the reception desk and starts rifling through the drawers until he finds a small index card with different numbers scribbled next to a list of names. Jordan is written in bold marker at the top next to two sets of numbers: 513, 113.

“This could be anybody.”

“Dial one.”

She wants to argue that they’ll get in trouble but she has a feeling that if she doubts him verbally one more time, he’ll burst a blood vessel. She dials the second number and his pocket starts to play a cute little ringtone.

“Hm.”

“And if you dialed the other number it’d go upstairs to my office.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“What? My office?”

“Why not?”

He gives her a hard look before brightening up. “Sure.”

They get back on the elevator and this time, they head for the top floor. She gets back into her corner but he doesn’t get back on the wall, he moves next to her until their shoulders touch. His skin is warm against hers until he moves again, his arm going around her waist instead, tracing circles into the fabric covering the soft flesh of her hip.

Her voice is watery when she even thinks of speaking and before she can, he does.

“How’d you get here?”

“A cab.”

“No I mean, who invited you.”

“His name was Chris.”

“Tall guy? Blonde hair and blue eyes? Sweet and lovable?”

“Very much the exact opposite of everything you said.”

Jordan laughs. “There are two Chrises”

“Then I met the wrong one.”

There’s a saying, speak of the devil and he shall appear? The elevator comes to a stop, the doors slide open once more and who should step on but the Chris that Beyoncé’s come to know and strongly dislike.

He steps on and then gets a good look at the people he’s on the elevator with, his eyes flicking between the two of them wildly.

“Oh, no.”

Beyoncé’s mouth falls open. “No?”

Jordan looks confused. “What?”

“Not her.”

“What do you mean not me?”

“That’s not the girl I was telling you about.” He turns his attention to Beyoncé. “Where’s your friend? The model one with the, uh,–,” he gestures in front of his chest, like he’s squeezing grapefruits.

“OKAY, you only met one of my friends, she’s not even that close of a friend for your information and her breasts are not that big, she wears a push up bra.” The last half of that statement is a lie but hurt people say untrue things.

“You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“Well I am and you know why? Because someone was too scared to uninvite me and now I’m here and Maya’s never gonna get a chance because I locked this bleep down.” She purses her lips, arrogantly and wraps a possessive arm around Jordan’s waist.

“Jordan, you like this girl?” He says sounding betrayed.

It’d be hard to tell who’s staring at Jordan harder between the two of them.

“I think she’s beautiful.”

Chris shrugs rudely. “Maybe an 8.5. The face is there, a nice lower half but the rack? You could do better.”

Beyoncé goes to lunge at him but Jordan’s arm keeps her in place.

“What are you going upstairs for?” Jordan tries changing the subject.

“Can a man desire to enjoy his own private bathroom?”

“Don’t get like that.”

Chris still seems agitated but he relaxes slightly. “Get like what?”

“You’re in your mood.”

“I’m not in my mood. I’m in need of a bathroom break, that’s it.

They hit the top floor, Chris is the first off, taking a hard left while Jordan leads Beyoncé straight to the biggest office with glass windows and the dark curtains drawn closed, he stops her in front of a wooden door and digs in his pocket to retrieve his keys.

As soon as the door swings open, the perfect, suave, image of him she’d been building in her mind came to a screeching halt, collapsed to the sound of an off key brass section.

It was a pigsty, boxes and papers were strewn around everywhere. His desk was cluttered with knick-knacks and files.

She eased herself onto a leather couch cushion, between a box and the arm rest while he flopped behind his desk and kicked his feet up, knocking things over and not even looking to pick them up.

The room smelled of cigarettes and what she could assume was weed. He sees her sniffing and cuts on the oscillating fan.

“You mind if I pick your brain a little bit?”

Beyoncé couldn’t give him her full attention, she was too busy driving herself crazy over the mess she’d been thrown into. “Uh-huh.”

“You never told me your name.”

  
She pulls herself out of it, this man can be saved, she thinks. “Guess.”

“I need a hint.”

“Starts with a B.”

“Bianca.” He tosses a rubber band ball into the air and catches it with his other hand.

“That’s always everyone's first guess but no.”

“How many syllables?

“Three.”

“I’m on the right track then. Brianna?”

“Not it.”

“How about Biloxi?”

“Like Mississippi? That’s a new one.”

“You have a very strong accent.”

“I’m from Houston.”

“That explains so much.”

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

He looks at her in a way that can only be described as hungrily. “It is.”

“I give up, what’s your name.”

“You’re gonna be mad. It’s Beyoncé.”

“Beyoncé?” Did your mother make that up?”

“No, it’s French-Creole and it was my mother’s maiden name and a very drunk and possibly high man told me it was beautiful just a little while ago.”

“I do like it. My parents weren’t that creative. They looked at a map.”

She laughs and it seems to please him that he was able to make her laugh.

“I have a job proposition for you.”

She sits up straight, had he heard the melodic undertones of her laugh? “Shoot.”

“I need an assistant to help me out, run errands, take messages, boring things.”

Her face falls. “Oh, no thanks.”

His face falls faster than hers did. “What?”

“Nah, that’s not what I see myself doing.”

“No one does, it’s a starter job.”

“I got a job already.”

“What is that?”

“A sales associate at Barneys,” She replies proudly, “I’m very good at it.”

“Yes?”

“I am.”

“I could pay you way more than Barneys.”

“Money’s not really something I try to think about.”

“‘Maybe that’s because you haven’t made enough of it yet.”

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll think about it.” She sounds patronizing and she knows it’s making his blood boil. It’s cute actually.

“Please, do.”

“How about you hand me a rubber band so I can put my hair up.”

He stands up and stretches. “I’ll do you one better.” He digs into one of his drawers and pulls out an elastic hair tie and a scrunchie. “I have an emergency stash.”

“I can’t waste your office supplies?”

“I don’t like you that much.”

She stands up and makes a slow deal out of taking the scrunchie from him and their fingers brush together, a tight coiling feeling resides in her stomach, a tingling feeling travels through her limbs and down to where her fingers meet his. She chalks it up to her drinking and the high altitude.

He takes her hand in his hands, bringing her palm to his lips and working slowly down from her wrist to her shoulder. He moves to her neck, his kisses get lighter, more teasing but they linger. The fan will turn in their direction and she’ll feel it cool the parts of her skin he’s kissed. It doesn’t help, she’s burning up all over.

He gathers her hair into his hand to expose the nape of her neck, coiling a short ringlet that grow there around his index finger before taking the scrunchie from her. Their hands touch again and this time there’s no spark, just a hot, slow burning feeling that starts in her hand and then her face gets hot. Sweat starts to slick her skin and she knows it’s noticeable. Jordan takes his time, pulling her hair into a low bun.

“Thank you.”

He speaks low into her ear, “You’re very welcome.”

Her shoulders are tensed and he takes it upon himself to start kneading circles into them. Kissing below her ear and sliding his hands lower to reach the zipper of the dress.

She quickly shrugs out of his grasp, if not for her morals, for the mounds of wet tape that would’ve been revealed.

She offers him a modest smile. “Maybe we should just talk.”

Jordan’s thumb traces along her jawline. “I can talk.”

She flops into the couch again and looks at him expectantly, he thinks he’s smart, getting down on his knees and turning to sit between her legs. The brief moment his breath tickled at her knee just might have been the most stressful experience of her life so far. She snakes her arms around his shoulders and explores the parts of his chest that fall within reach. 

This is platonic, she tells herself, this is just being curious. “Ask me some questions.”

He tilts his head up to see her face. “Excuse me, you have very big ears.”

It catches her off guard and an obnoxious laugh tumbles from her throat. “That’s not a question.”

“It raised several questions for me.”

She notices he makes jokes and looks to make sure she laughs, not like he expects her to but more along the lines of he hopes she laughs and no ones ever really cared for her approval before.

“I got bullied for them, I’m very sensitive.”

“They’re almost like wings.”

“They called me Dumbo.”

“I would never go that far. That’s rude.”

“My hero.” She nudges the back of his head and he lets it flop over to the side.

“I used to get bullied.”

“What? The king of Staten Island? Who would do such a thing.”

He laughs and she feels it rumble in his chest. “I wasn’t born with my charm and good looks, it was a long-fought battle.”

She dissolves into giggles and his eyes light up.

“What else did they bully you for?”

“Why do you think I got bullied for more than one thing?”

“I think ears would get boring.”

She thinks for a quick second. “My neck.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s very long.”

“It’s a gorgeous neck, a model’s neck. Those kids wouldn’t know beauty if they fell into it.”

Her eyes roll, humorously, “We were like 11.”

He kisses his teeth. “I loved models when I was 11.”

“Where were you when I got called the Toys R Us giraffe?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Most likely in Toys R Us.”

“How useless.”

“Don’t say that; we’d be a great team. Me, the loveable but scrawny, lisping rich kid, battling anti-semitism in an all-boys preparatory school across the pond and you—,” Beyoncé interrupts.

“Me, the poor girl with uneven proportions?”

“I can see us already. We date through high school, long distance, take a little break in college, get back together and now I’m getting kinda buff, doing the whole protein powder thing.”

“I didn’t finish college.”

“No?”

“I took a break after the first year and then I never went back.”

“When was this?” She feels his hand sliding across the flesh of her calf.

“Like, three years ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

“No, I didn’t have the drive for it.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I know a place that hires college dropouts.”

“I know one too. It’s Barneys.”

“You know what? I’m gonna beat the fuck out of this Barney guy.” He pounds his free hand into the side of the couch.

“I bet he’s like a million years old though.”

“I’m not afraid to fight the elderly.”

“He’s probably so strong and handsome even at his age. Maybe I’ll start a little office romance with him.”

“I’d just wait until you’re married with kids and just steal you away.”

His statement nags at her and the color almost drains from her face when she realizes why. She is not single. She’s very much in a relationship. A long-term one. She’s engaged and it’s not something you just forget when it’s new but she’s been engaged for so long it’s easy for it to get lost in the recesses of her mind. Her fiancé doesn’t consume her thoughts they way he ought to and that’s not new because he never has. What’s alarming is how quickly Jordan’s started to.

Jordan must see the look on her face. “Are you alright?”

She tries to laugh it off. “I...just remembered I had my laundry left in the dryer.”

“I could send someone to get it.”

“No it’s okay, I’m sure my delicates have been stolen by someone less fortunate than I.”

“You’ve got a good heart.”

She decides to change the subject. “When’s your birthday?”

“September 8th.”

“Shut up.”

“What’s wrong with that? You’re opposed to Virgo’s aren’t you? We’re not all difficult.”

“Yes they are and I know because mine is on the 4th.”

“Of September?”

“Yeah, 4 days apart and 4 is my lucky number.”

“I’ll remember that.”

They quiet down, letting the fan blow cool air in their direction. Jordan gets up and pulls open one of the curtains so they can see down into the street.

“It’s so peaceful up here compared to downstairs.”

“The fellas and I are a rowdy bunch.”

“Your parties always get this crazy?”

“...No.”

“Then they do.”

“It depends on who shows up, who’s on what. That type of thing.”

Her brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

He repeats himself slowly as if that makes it clear.

“Like, drugs?”

“It is a party.”

“But like...drugs?”

Jordan nods like she’s the crazy one. “Yes.”

She takes a step back and makes an odd humming noise and he turns his attention back to the window.

Okay, she has to think. It’s rude to project your fantasies on people. It’s objectifying and that’s not fair she’s sure that he has hopes and dreams of his own. He’s a man with desires and needs but right now her desires and her needs are a little louder than his. Like, God, he has the uncle Jesse season 6 haircut. She would bet good money (if she had it) that he owned a motorcycle. He wears a little gold chain with a funny looking star around his neck. He’s got a very cute english accent and before today, she kind of thought it was made up for tv. Of course he does drugs, of course he’s got more money than he knows what to do with.

He’s all of her romance novel, Grease fueled fantasies rolled into one. It’d be almost shameful if she didn’t have a little on the spot fantasy where they sit on the roof of his car somewhere hillside and he gets handsy with her. True to real life, she’d blushingly deny him and he’d smooth her over with words until his lips found hers in a heated kiss. This is her world, she can run her fingers through his hair and place her hand over his just to guide it between her thighs.

She feels him kiss her temple in reality and her eyes flick back open.

“You seem out of it.”

Her throat is dry. “I’m good. I’m just thinking.

“About your laundry?”

She momentarily forgets her lie. “What? No. Just...I wanna try it.”

“Try what?”

“The drug thing.”

He looks amused. “No you don’t.”

“It’s the 90s, women can make their own choices, Ronald Reagan.”

“Why?”

Because in all of her fantasies that took this turn her wild ruffian boyfriend is the one that popped her drug cherry. “I may never get the chance again.”

“That’s slightly sane.”

“Well, why do you do it?”

“Because it’s fun.”

The entire lower half of her body seems to clench. “I wanna try. I wanna have fun too.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I trust you, stop being a square.”

He laughs and pulls open a filing cabinet, an array of pill bottles and little plastic baggies with dubious looking powder coming into her view. It’s not what she expected, she slams it shut.

“Ummm, I wasn’t quite ready for all of that yet.”

“I know. I’m finding you something easy.”

“I want to be coherent.”

He slides the cabinet back open and watches carefully as he pulled out a tiny little ziploc. He dumps it onto a clean spot on his desk and then with the edge of someone’s business card he sorts it into small lines. She internally debates whether or not it’s sexy how professionally he does that.

“How do I know that’s not the big one?”

“The big one?”

“The ultra drug: crack cocaine.”

He looks offended. “I don’t do crack.”

“But you DO use cocaine.”

“You think I just keep it in a filing cabinet? Like some animal?”

“I don’t know DRUG ETIQUETTE. This is a foreign language to me.”

“It’s ecstasy.” He pats her on her backside. “Baby steps.”

“Oh, no, this is the top of the ladder for me.”

“Eh.”

Her eyes widen and shakes his head. “I’m messing with you.”

“Sure.”

He pushes a finger into one of his nostrils and leans down, snorting one of the lines as if it was nothing. He looks at her, honestly expecting her to do what he did.

“I didn’t really get a good handle of the demonstration so…” Plus taking it that way felt a lot more seedy than just popping a pill or two and going about her day.

She watches him as he rubs at his nose and adjusts in his seat. It’s a strangely erotic picture. “Just put it in your mouth.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t want it up your nose you can put it in your mouth.”

“I’d rather do that.”

He gestured for her to have at it and she pretends it’s not the 90s and that women are helpless. “Could you do it?”

His pupils are wide and his skin glistens with sweat. She wants to be felt up again and to feel him up in return. He pulls her into his lap and swipes his fingers through the lines.

“Say ‘ahh’ and stay still.” He instructs her like a doctor and she listens, opening her mouth and feeling him rub her gums and her tongue. Then she tastes it and almost gags, her tongue goes tingly then numb.

“It’s so bitter,” she says, with a severe lisp.

“Nasty, right? That is why you don’t chew pills.”

“I don’t think the drug using life is for me.”

“It’s not for everyone.” Jordan brushes a stray hair out of his face and she feels like it takes him longer than it should a normal person but she gets so much joy out of watching it.

She feels the cool air of the fan on her back and the warmth of his body beneath hers. A lazy smile spreads across her cheeks and she just wants to touch him and be close to him. The way she felt before but with dwindling inhibitions.

She holds his face in her hands and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. His hands find her waist again and even through the material of her dress she feels it. She feels everything, she feels him, mostly, but he feels so good. She tries to undo her own zipper but her fingers find the packaging tape instead, she pulls it loose and out from the dress and casts it aside, a jumbled mess.

Jordan speaks, his lips against her throat, “What's that?”

She shakes her head, unmoved to feel embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it?”

He grabs at the top of her dress and pulls down roughly until he can latch his mouth onto her nipple, his finger circling the other one. His mouth is so warm and wet, she whimpers pathetically when he removes it.

He kisses her tenderly on the lips and lifts her onto his desk.“Don’t worry about it.”

His fingers travel down to the edges of her dress and he pushes up the fabric to find her, legs trembling, soaking through the thin cotton material of her panties. He doesn’t waste time pulling them off, he drops down to his knees and puts his mouth over her, one slow licking motion over her aching clit.

She cries out softly, her hips trying to follow his tongue. He holds her in place with a steady arm and begins to lick at her greedily, only ceasing to tease his way under her panties and tasting her sweat and arousal soaked folds. She tries to guide his head to her where she wants him most but he doesn’t bite, only returns to licking her through her underwear.

She sits up and starts pushing them down her legs and Jordan moves to watch her.

She blinks away tears. “Please.”

His eyes follow the light blue fabric as it reaches her ankles. “Please, what?”

“Please touch it, I can’t do it. I don’t—,” She pauses and tries to regain a little sense of dignity, “I want you to touch me.”

He stands up and pushes her until she’s laying on her back, he lets his hands cup her breast and then massage into her neck. He trails his thumb along her Cupid’s bow and this time she flicks her tongue out to meet it. She holds his hand and goes over each of his fingers while his other hand rubs insistently at her clit.

She gasps around his index finger and he plunges two, thick fingers inside of her. A sticky, wet noise comes from his actions and she feels his palm grow slick as he thrusts into her.

He waits until she’s squirming and rocking against his fingers to dip his head back between her legs and taste her, the tip of his nose nuzzling into soft hair. She’s never been this wet before, he’ll move and a clear string of her arousal will be clinging to his lips or jaw and it’s so strange to her it almost feels wrong.

He sits back on his knees and pulls her so that she’s hanging off the edge, fixing her legs over his shoulders. He wraps his lips around the hood of her clit and his tongue beneath it, sucking and lapping at her gently as his fingers start to work another dizzying pace.

She feels so hot, like she may burn through her clothes and when her orgasm comes, harder than she anticipated, she says the Lord’s name in vain several more times.

He kisses the sensitive bundle of nerves and down the inside of her thigh, she barely catches the obnoxious grin on his face.

“My name’s Jordan.”

Her butt touches the cold floor and she’s grateful for it, still too out of breath to give him the cussing he deserves.

He climbs on top of her and kisses her deep and with a ton of authority. Beyoncé thinks he’s earned it, she’d trust him to have control of her body, he took very good care of it so far, but she knows she can’t do that.

She kisses him one more time and pulls herself away. “I have a boyfriend.”

He blinks and doesn’t speak so she goes on.

“And I can’t leave.”

He nods. “Alright.” He goes to kiss her again and she moves her face away.

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I fibbed.”

He kisses her before she can think to move. “You’re so cute.”

“Jordan.”

“I’m not understanding what you having a boyfriend has to do with you and me.”

“I can’t have two boyfriends, can I?”

“If you wanted to but most likely, it’ll pan out in my favor. You’ll start seeing me and he’d ve so boring in comparison, you’d drop him and then it’d be just like he never existed and we’d be lounging on a beach somewhere .”

“That’s very arrogant.”

“You love him?”

She tries to find a way to word how she feels. “There’s...I know him. I don’t know you.”

“Then go home to him.” He stands and helps her up, she’s wobbly. “In the meantime, I would love to get to know you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it while I drive you home and then think about that other thing.”

He starts backing her towards the door, kissing her between statements. “Go find your friend and meet me in the lobby.”

“Now?” She feels almost anxious at being separated from him.

“You gotta get home.”

“I know.”

“You should stop by a mirror before we leave, you look like you’ve been doing something bad.”

“I do?”

He tugs at her bottom lip with his teeth. “I like it, your boyfriend won’t.”

“I need my panties.” She’s at the door and really doesn’t want to leave.

“I’ll get them back to you eventually.”

“When’s that?”

He lifts her up and places her on the other side of the door. “Go find your friend.”

The door clicks shut in her face and she exhales heavily before hearing footsteps behind her. She turns and it’s Chris, hands on his hips.

“That’s what a southern baptist upbringing gets you. That right there. Enjoy your walk of shame. God won’t.”  
  



	2. I’m Gonna Get You Baby

Beyoncé can see Jordan’s car outside of her bedroom window. At least, she assumes it’s Jordan’s car, it’s different from the one he drove her and Maya home in. It’s a red two seater, one of those classic cars she’s never cared to learn the name of. She just has a strong feeling about it and it’s not like the time she saw a white guy reading the business section of the newspaper on the subway and was convinced, for a good 5 minutes that she was being stalked. She’s even more sure than the time last week when she begged Maya to take her to the Statue of Liberty and she thought she saw him on a passing ferry, (they never did make it to the statue, Maya has terrible motion sickness). This time, Beyoncé has cause. Maybe an hour earlier Jordan called her, which was weird in itself because she remembers not giving him her number in an effort to seem sexy and mysterious. Two weeks went by and she got nothing from him, only look-alikes from afar but today, she gets a phone call in the kitchen while she makes herself a little ham and cheese sandwich.

She answered it rudely, mostly because she burned her finger seconds before but also because telemarketers got strong with you like they were in the mob or something. “What?”

“I’d like to take you out.”

She caught the color draining out of her face in the reflection of her skillet. “What?”

He clears his throat, “This is Jordan...from...you know...wealthy guy...dubiously English mannerisms?”

She doesn’t say anything because she’d like to see where this is going and a wet, semi-unpleasant licking sound floods into her ear.

“You know, that Jordan.” She can practically hear him blushing over the phone.

She giggles,“No, I know you. I just thought you wouldn’t remember me.”

“I wouldn’t forget someone like you.”

“It’s been long enough,” Beyoncé says this as if she’s single and Jordan is supposed to be her boyfriend.

“You’re very hard to find.”

“I go two places. Work and home.”

“I’d feel strange showing up without calling first.”

“Good point.”

“Plus, you’ve never really seen me in the daylight and I’d hate for you to change your mind about me.”

She laughs, making her way into her room. “Modesty doesn’t work for you.”

“I had to give it a try.”

“You’re not convincing at all.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Why not?”

“That boyfriend of yours, is he gone?”

She really misses the fun, airy conversation they were having earlier, surely the mood hadn’t changed for him but she always got a little down when that topic came up. “He’s certainly gone in the sense that he’s not at home right now.”

“So, you can talk to me?”

“He’s at work.”

“You do sound a bit lonely,” Jordan sounds...satisfied.

“Lonely and bored,” she says, sliding a hand into her shorts because if this was going where she thought she needed to warm up first.

“Luckily for you, I’m plenty of fun.”

“I remember that.”

“Then I’ll be there by the time the sun goes down.”

“Wait, huh? I didn’t say that—,”She starts, sitting up on her bed and pulling her hand from her underwear but she didn’t get to say anything else before he hung up on her.

It was the sexiest, most tantalizing five minute conversation she’s ever had and now she’s hiding in the corner of her room watching this car from the crack in her blinds. The headlights cut off and she realizes there’s nothing coming from the exhaust pipe. She squints trying her hardest to spot even his outline in the windows but it’s all for naught as she hears the soul crushing sound of her doorbell.

She runs panicked from her room, through the hallway and into the living room. “I was so caught up in the romantic undertones of our conversation he slipped by me,” she quietly cries out.

The doorbell rings again and she places her hand on the knob and tries to calm herself down. She turns the locks, slowly pulls the door open and almost tragically it really is Jordan and he really is still cute. He’s dressed up this time, she assumes he came straight from work, his tie is still on and his hair is a lot neater than what she remembers.

She blocks the doorway so he can’t come inside. “You have to go.” She whispers it despite being alone.

“I’ve just got here.”

“But you gotta go.”

“Oh, then I misunderstood ...a lot.”

She feels a little bad then. “No! I wanted to see you. I want to see you but my boyfriend,” her voice wobbles stupidly when she says that word, “He comes home soon.”

Jordan nods. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Well I did come all this way...”

“I was gonna tell you not to.”

“A kiss for all my troubles?”

“That’s a horrible idea.” She hears herself say it but doesn’t stop her body from inching closer to his and she can’t bring herself to move away when he braces a hand on her door frame and pulls her lips to his. All the cool she remembers from his kisses before is gone, in its place, heavy-handed need. When she breaks away it feels like he genuinely misses her.

She squeezes her eyes shut, his arm slides around her waist and he kisses up her neck to her jaw. “You really can’t come in.”

“We don’t have to go in, I can take you out.”

“I can’t go on a date with you.”

He hums, kissing underneath her ear, thinking. “It won’t be a date.”

“I can’t hang out with you either.”

“I’ll interview you.”

“What?”

“I offered you a job. You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

She rolls her eyes. “I remember saying no.”

“You said you’d think about it and you can’t really say no until you see what it’s about.”

“...I guess.”

“That’s good enough for me.” He tries pulling her along with him but she snatched her hand away.

“I have to change.”

“You look fine and it won’t matter what you wear.”

“It’s freezing outside and these are my sleeping clothes.”

“Come on!” He whines like a petulant child and she kisses her teeth.

“OH please, it’ll take 10 minutes.” She slams the door shut not giving him the chance to respond.

It takes 20 minutes but that’s because she had to find the ugliest pair of underwear she owned as insurance and the pair of jeans that made her butt look the cutest just because she likes him a little bit.

She gets in his car and pulls on her seatbelt. She sees him gearing up to say something smart looking down at his watch. “Don’t say anything. I look cute, don’t I? You’re welcome.”

He pulls off, smirking,“I wasn’t saying anything.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I won’t.”

The drive to the restaurant is slow and comfortable. It’s also very quiet, the radio is so low you can barely hear it. Jordan thinks he’s funny, placing his hand on her knee and trying to slide it up to her thigh but Beyoncé’s funnier, she thinks, pinching one of his fingers and dropping his hand back into his lap.

He glances her way, evenly, “We’ll see on the ride back.”

Maybe, by then she’ll be a puddle on the floor.

Beyoncé is severely underdressed, she realizes it the second they step into the small restaurant and she sees her fellow patrons looking very Lifestyles Of the Rich and Famous.

She leans into Jordan’s ear. “We have to go.”

“What’s up?”

“Look at me.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I look like Raggedy Ann, that’s what’s wrong.”

“You look nice.”

“For like...a diner or something but not here. I look stupid.” Tears well up in her eyes and that makes her feel stupid.

“Hey, don't cry,” He pulls loose his tie and hands it to her. She blows her nose into it and holds it out to him.

“Here, thank you.”

“You can keep it.”

She shrugs and tucks it into her pocket as he removes his jacket and grips the collar of his shirt, yanking at it and sending buttons scattering to the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, “It’s the drugs, isn’t it? Lord, I made out with a crackhead.”

He gasps. “I do not do crack. I do coke and there’s a difference”

Her eyes narrow,“And only a crackhead would know that.”

His voice turns loud and a nefarious look appears upon his face. “Who HASN’T smoked a little crack to see what the fuss is about?”

Her entire face reddens and she groans. “People are looking.”

“Let them watch.” He runs his fingers through his hair until it’s wild and free.

“Jordan.”

He offers her a gentle smile and his hand. “Now nobody’s looking at you but me.”

They get lead to a booth towards the back and before she sits, she goes into her purse and pulls out a pen, notebook and the tape recorder she uses to capture her self-described Mariah Carey level vocals in the shower, then lays them on the table.

She flops into her seat and sternly shakes her head when Jordan tries to slide in next to her. “No.”

A waiter brings out a basket of rolls and takes their drink orders. Jordan’s eyes dart between the bread and her. “Why not?”

“This isn’t a date so it’d be unprofessional.”

He breathes out a lengthy sigh and sits across from her. “This is actually more romantic anyways.”

“Good for you,” She pulls out a pen and scribbles on her notepad, “Start interviewing me.”

“What are you doing?”

“Taking notes.”

“On what?”

“You, not taking notes.”

He looks amused. “I’m the one interviewing you.”

“With no notes?” She starts writing and talking under her breath. “Still has not started this interview, may have a problem with time.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Wow.”

“I’m waiting.”

“For your information, I eat before I do my business.”

She stifles a laugh. “As most people do.”

He blinks a few times before he realizes it and Beyoncé dissolves into snorting giggles. “Oh, nice, a pooping joke at the dinner table? This is serious, Beyoncé. I don’t just interview anyone.”

“Alright, whew! I’m done. Where’s the menu?”

“We’re not ready for the entree so start off with the appetizers in the front.”

She slams her menu shut and writes out on her notepad, “Doesn’t think I know what an appetizer is.”

“I never sai— are you making a pros and cons list?”

“So far, it’s only cons,” she snaps.

He goes to put his hand over hers, it gets smacked away with a surprising amount of strength. “This is not a date!”

“I’m trying to apologize!”

“Apologize from a distance.”

“I’m sorry.”

She nods and goes back to her notes, “Apologies leave something to be desired,” she flips a page and starts out a new list, “Can admit when he’s wrong.”

“Is that the pros list?”

She flips back to the first page and thinks up two new notes. “Nosy. Drug user.”

“Technically, that could go for you too.”

“Really, really nosy,” she writes down.

“I don’t think that needs a second note.”

“Hm. Thinks I don’t know how to take notes.”

He chooses to ignore her, “Have you tried lobster before?”

“So, because I’m poor I couldn’t possibly afford to eat lobster?”

His face falls,“That’s not what I said.”

She laughs. “I’m messing with you. I’ve never had it, it’s gross looking.”

“Oh.”

He noticeably relaxes, taking a deep breath and notices how high strung and almost desperate he seems today. He might be a little more nervous than she is, it makes her let her guard down a little, maybe she could be nice.

She thinks of something remotely on topic to say. “You know they keep growing until they die? They get too big for their shells or exhaust themselves. They’re like quasi-immortal, they don’t really die of old age.”

A small smile appears on his face. “They’re like sea roaches.”

Beyoncé lets out an excited hum, “I say that all the time but nobody listens!”

“They just say I’m gross for bringing it up at the table but where else can you bring it up?”

“Right? Like, maybe the aquarium but I feel like that would take the fun out of it.”

“I’ve never tried it on the beach either.”

“If you ever take me to the beach or the aquarium, I’ll bring it up.”

“Sure,” He pauses and his face lights up, “I’m doing that well?”

She rolls her eyes.“No, I said IF.”

“I think you like me.”

“I think you’re a crackhead. I think you do crack.”

“Right, but you want to—,” he interlocks his fingers and repeatedly smacks the palms of his hands together for the skin against skin sound it makes,“—with me.”

“I actually don’t.”

“I think you do.”

“No because I don’t want my friends looking at me and going ‘Eww Beyoncé, you’re out here doing crackheads.”

He rests his chin in his hands, “Would you tell them I’m a cute crackhead?”

She opens her menu and sits it up so she doesn’t have to look at him. “Order something, please.”

Jordan hums and turns a page in his menu, “I’m not supposed to eat shellfish anyways.”

Her menu falls flat on the table. “Why? Ohhh, you have allergies? My cousin tried shrimp one time on a dare and his face got all these boils on it and he had to go to the hospital, it was so cool! He has breathing problems now though.” She frowns a little at the memory but it doesn’t last.

“My reason isn’t that interesting it’s just religious.”

“Oh, I get it, I have to religiously avoid certain foods too, my stomach can’t take dairy, it swells up like a balloon and I break out really bad...kinda like my cousin! Funny world.”

“You like salmon cakes?”

“I like my mother’s salmon cakes. I don’t know how I’d feel about  _ Ja-queese _ Pierre’s,” She says reading the chef’s name off the front page.

He sighs, fondly,“You’re so cute.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Right, my bad.” He signals for a waiter and one appears as if they were manifested into that spot. “We’ll try salmon cakes first and if the lady doesn’t mind, I’ll order for us.”

She crosses her arms. “I definitely mind, but I’d like to see what you get.”

“Great.”

Admittedly, the food Jordan orders sounds pretty good but Beyoncé’s almost positive that it’s just because his voice is nice to listen to.

She takes long sips from her lemonade while Jordan writes something down in her notebook that he swiped when the waiter returned. “Alright, Beyoncé, is it?”

“I prefer Miss Knowles, it’s more professional.”

“Miss Knowles, your last name sounds familiar. You say you’re from Texas?”

She scoffs,“I don’t say. I am.”

“That has yet to be seen I’m afraid but back to the subject, where might I know you from?”

Beyoncé takes a deep, pleased breath, she LOVES listing her accomplishments. “Well, there’s quite a few places. My father is a famed arsonist, he’s currently serving 20 years, he will be out when I’m 25. It was on the news a lot back in 81’ I had to switch kindergartens.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not it.”

“I used to do a lot of beauty pageants. I was Junior Miss Houston in 1992, which, if I may add, I did while battling strep throat and sabotage because my other cousin tricked me into drinking a milkshake the night before the talent competition.”

“How do you get tricked into drinking a milkshake?”

“It looked a LOT like a protein shake.”

  
“You didn’t taste the difference?”

Her eyes are wide and frenzied, “NO! I had strep throat!”

“I’m so sorry that you went through that.”

“It’s okay. It’s in the past, it doesn’t even matter because I won...so maybe that’s where you know me from.”

“...Maybe so.”

The appetizers come out and she inspects the cake thoroughly.

He nudges his foot against hers under the table. “Are you gonna try it or…”

“Or what?”

“Are you a baby?”

“No, I am not a baby, I’m an adult.”

He forks off a chunk of salmon cake and holds it up to her lips. “Then _tryyyyy_ it.”

“I can feed myself.” It brushes against her bottom lip when she talks.

“Just taste it.”

She grimaces and bites off the tiniest piece she can with her front teeth. “It’s alright.”

“I’m surprised you can taste anything,” He says, eating what remained on the fork.

“I’ve tasted enough.”

He snaps his fingers and the waiter, again, manifests before their table and starts pulling the plate a way. Beyoncé stop him because maybe it was too fast of a judgement.

“That’s so wasteful,” she scolds and turns to their waiter, “Put it in a take-home box.”

“You don’t like it.”

“Maybe I’ll change my mind when I get home.”

She gets her take-home box and then a cart is wheeled out with all the food Jordan took it upon himself to order. A rack of lamb, a halved chicken, some poor looking fish, two different pasta dishes and an array of sides.

“See anything you might like?”

“Are you paying for all this?”

He doesn’t stop piling string beans onto his plate,“That’s a silly question.”

“It’s polite to ask.”

“You care about being polite now?”

She lowers her voice to a harsh whisper, “I’m always very polite, I say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ constantly, you’re the rude one at this table.”

“Can you blame me? I’m nervous.”

“What for?”

“You’re a very intimidating person.”

“You act like you’ve never seen a pretty girl before.”

“Not one like you.”

“Oh, please.”

“Really. You look people in the eye and whatever you say, you sound like you mean it. It’s different.”

Beyoncé wants to die for a minute because she visibly swoons and he doesn’t have the good sense to pretend he didn’t see it.

“That’s what you like?”

Her cheeks burn at the proud expression growing on his face. “What?”

“That’s how I get on your good side?”

“No, I just like when you’re sweet to me,that’s all. Don’t get a big head.”

“I can be sweet.” 

“When you wanna be.”

“Yeah, when I want to be.”

She doesn’t have a menu to put separation between them anymore and she’s actually hungry so she’s forced to engage in conversation with him and it’s annoyingly easy.

“You’re so lucky to have a step-dad I always wanted one but my mom never followed through on all the seeds I planted.”

Jordan shakes his head. “It’s not all it’s seems. He tries to establish a bond with me but he’s not old enough for me to respect him as a parent yet.”

”My moms ex Daryl was like...the best potential step-dad. He was the perfect age, he had money, he bought me and my sister gifts all the time. He was a real one...he was a male goddess.”

“A male goddess would just be...actually, never mind.”

“Does your stepdad have any friends by chance?”

“He has a brother, I’ll get him to call you.”

“You’re the greatest!”

“All in a days work for a romantic like me, Beyoncé.”

“I’m sure.”

“No, watch this,” He waves the waiter over once again, “Could you pack this up for my friend?”

She perks up instantly, “Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna waste.”

Beyoncé is in an exceptionally good mood on the ride back to her place and while most of it can be contributed to the giant bag of warm leftovers, the guy balancing them in his lap is pretty cool too. He even let her drive and she was only joking when she asked because truth be told she’s hit a few mailboxes in her few short years as a licensed driver. His hand rests on her thigh and she hits the curb while pulling in front of her building and can’t think to do anything but laugh.

“Whoops.”

Jordan’s eyes are squeezed shut.

“Are you mad?”

“No. I just have to listen to one of my friends more often.”

They get out and inspect the bumper and there’s a scratch, Beyoncé would not like to dwell on the size of it, she tries buffing it out with her sweater sleeve. “It’ll come out.”

“It’s good. You just owe me.”

“Sir, I am poor.”

“Which is why you need a new job.” He walks her up to her door and she allows it because undoubtedly her boyfriend was sleeping, he’s a very habitual creature and by this time no matter where he is, he’ll knock out.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You think more than any other person I know. Just say yes.”

“I guess I have to if I’m ever gonna pay you back.”

“That’s the spirit.”

She unlocks the door and cracks open the door, her apartment is abnormally quiet and dark, “Weird.”

“What?” Jordan’s obnoxiously loud and she has a sneaking suspicion he wants her to get caught.

“Wait here.” She closes the door and flips the light on. Nothing’s moved since she left, she travels from room to room, a short job, but takes her time doing it, checking closets and under furniture as if her boyfriend’s hiding. She circles back to the kitchen and this time notices the red flashing light on the answering machine. She plays the lone message and waits for it to finish before making a beeline to her door, sure of divine intervention.

She twists the knob and finds Jordan on the other side, eating a lamb chop out of her box. “I got hungry.”

“He’s not here?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t get it, he’s always here. Like, I’ve never came home to an empty apartment before.”

He tosses the cleaned bone off into the bushes. “Okay.”

She pulls him inside by his ruined shirt, “Dummy, my boyfriend’s not home.”

“Ohhh.” His hands find her hips and then travel lower to grip the flesh of her ass, “How fortunate.”

She kisses him slow at first but it quickly turns frantic as he reaches between them and tugs at the waistband of her jeans until the button and zipper break.

She breaks away to fuss. “Oh my GOD, what is with you and clothing?”

He lifts her and she wraps her legs around him as he closes the door behind him,“That’s why I said it wouldn’t matter what you wear.  
  
  
  



	3. Think Of Me And Burn And Let Me Hold Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was canceled.........but the POWER BELONGS TO GOD....

They’re trying blindly to find their way into Beyoncé’s bedroom, her arms around his neck and his lips against hers. The second time he bumps into a wall trying to walk and feel her up at the same time he grows tired, lifting her up bridal style and carrying her the rest of the way. 

He reaches the foot of the bed and dips her down, planting loud, wet kisses onto her face.

“You think you’re Pepé Le Pew,” she laughs, her eyes still closed because he’s kissing right beneath her brows.

He lifts an arm and sniffs under it. “I smell? I’m sorry, I don’t usually sweat this way.”

She pushes off of him and lands on the bed, wiping her face. “No, no. He does the kissing thing, you know,” she grabs his hand and extends his arm, pushing his sleeve up and peppering kisses up and down his forearm, “Pepé Le Pew.”

He exhales a relieved laugh and nudges himself to stand between her legs. “I forgot.”

“You smell very nice.”

“Thank you, this cologne was expensive.”

“My perfume was 5 bucks.”

“You’re wearing perfume?” His brows furrow, trying to catch a lingering scent.

“Jordan, it was $5. It’s long gone.”

“I’ll buy you a better one.” He says in earnest, she can tell.

He places his palms at the underside of her chin, tilting her head to meet his lips with hers, his thumb strokes gently at her cheek.

It doesn’t miss Beyoncé that every kiss she gives Jordan seems to leave him awestruck. She traces a finger along the bridge of his nose and watches as he nods his head to follow it drunkenly over and over. She lingers on the tip of his nose and she shouldn’t underestimate him, he grabs her by the wrist and takes his time pressing each finger to his lips.

His own fingers slip underneath the material of her shirt and lift it over her head. She takes hold of his face and kisses him urgently, hoping to skip a few steps in the undressing process.

He takes her both of her hands into one of his and pulls away, kissing her neck and shoulders instead. The skin there is peppered with small moles and freckles, Jordan takes time to reach every one. She feels the strap of her bra sliding downwards and it’s like she can’t angle her way around to grab his hand fast enough.

“Maybe we should keep it on.”

He nods, breathless. “Sure.” 

His hands travel down to her rib cage, then up to cup her breasts before she stops him again.

She nods towards the stereo in the corner of the room.“We should put some music on.”

“Sure.” He stands up and makes his way over to go through the stack of CDs on the floor.

Beyoncé reaches into her bra and pulls out the toilet paper stuffed inside and discards it under the bed while his back is turned. 

Jordan finds a compilation of music to make love to disc ordered off a late night commercial and makes his way back.

He climbs onto the bed and the springs creak and whine under their combined weight. “You like Tony! Toni! Tone! a whole lot.”

“I lost my virginity to Anniversary.”

He laughs. She does not. He clears his throat.  
“Like on purpose?”

“It was our 11 month anniversary.”

“And you couldn’t make it to a year?”

“I got bored.”

“I understand.” He undoes the buttons of her jeans and she watches in horror as the ugly cowboy patterned granny panties surface.

She had forgotten her insurance underwear. She is mortified.

Jordan tugs at the waistband. “Cute.”

She covers her face with her hands. “Shut up.”

“I really like them.”

“Please, shut up.”

“In fear of anymore embarrassment,” He reaches up and tugs a ripped piece of toilet paper from out of her bra, “I didn’t want to say anything.”

Beyoncé thought she knew what being mortified felt like, she hasn’t until this moment. She stands up, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Don’t do that. Come here.”

When she gets embarrassed, she cries and it’s very inconvenient. “No. You don’t do that. I look stupid and I feel stupid, so I can’t do it and you can’t make me.”

He reaches out and wraps his fingers around her folded arm, he pulls her close to him and rubs at the bare skin of her back. 

“I wouldn’t make you do anything

“Just laugh at me and get it over with.”

His lips press softly against her jaw. “I won’t laugh at you.”

“It’s fine. I already look stupid, you can’t make it worse.”

“You don’t look stupid. I thought it was cute.”

Beyoncé’s eyes roll. 

“I mean it. You’re adorable,” He ducks his head down to kiss at her collarbone and chest,  
“I like them. I should be the one embarrassed, I’m sweating like crazy.”

She wills the nerve to look him in the eye. “You are a little damp.”  
Jordan laughs. “Ouch.”

“Sorry. I think it’s sweet.”

His hand drops to her hip and his fingers hook into the material of her panties. “You’re sweeter.” It’s an innocent phrase that seems more crass the longer she dwells on it. 

Heat returns to her face and travels throughout the rest of her body. Jordan kisses her gentle and long, teasing her out of her shell again until she’s straddling his lap, running her fingers through his hair. 

She feels his arousal growing beneath her, his hips lifting to press against her whenever she moves. The last time she felt powerless to his charm and ability, tonight she feels powerful.

Jordans tells her, in a lower voice that he should not be allowed to use, that she is just so sexy. Beyoncé believes it. She slides her hand beneath his pants and feels the length of him pressing hard to get free and the sticky spot it left in its wake. 

She moves to sit on the bed itself and guides his face by a steady hand on the nape of his neck between her legs. He tugs down her underwear rough and thoughtlessly and waits, committing her nude form to memory. Beyoncé knows herself and knows that normally she’d cover up, worried to death about how she looks, but now she can only care enough to tug at his hair and push his head closer.

Jordan laughs. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

She pulls a pillow under her hips. “I’m not getting any younger.”

He lifts her legs over his shoulders and puts his mouth to greater use than going back and forth with her. Licking at her in slow dizzying circles, his hair tickling her belly. His lips latch onto her and she wonders for a split second when he’d need to breathe, his tongue near her clit makes her decide she doesn’t care.

Her hands move to clutch her comforter, rocking steadily against his tongue as a long whine escapes her throat. Jordan groans quietly and it floats to Beyoncé’s ears between soft suctioning noises. If she looks at him any longer she will lose it. His lips swollen and pink, his eyes heavy lidded and the slight contours of the muscles in his arms moving as he grips her thighs. He catches her staring and easily manages two fingers inside of her, curving up and then pulling them out just as quick.

Her brows knit together petulantly and he takes his middle finger in his mouth cleaning it off before doing the same with his pointer. He crawls over her and places his lips to hers, she tastes herself on his tongue and because he makes her feel like she tastes so good, she believes that too.

They work together to strip him out of his remaining clothes and she pulls down her bra, not feeling up to the task of unhooking it. 

He trails a finger around her nipple and then presses an all too quick kiss to it. “You worried for no reason.”

“They’re tiny.”

“And I like them.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t debate him.

He sits, his back against the wall and holds her by the hand, tracing across the lines in her palm and fingers with his own. He’s quiet and Beyoncé thinks she should feel uncomfortable but she isn’t moved to. She is moved, however, to kiss her way up his chest and hits her as she makes it past his neck, just how much she likes to kiss him. That maybe she’s left awestruck as often as he is. The tips of their noses brush gently and she thinks, repeatedly, of how much she really likes him.

She goes to verbalize this but she’s a second too late. “Beyoncé, I’m very fond of you.”

She blinks. “Hm?”

His eyes appear softer than she’s seen before. “I carry a warm place in my heart for you.”

She knows she should be apprehensive. “It’s...early.” 

“Yet, I already carry it.”

“You’re one of those ‘fool for love’ types? I’m actually shocked.”

Jordan shakes his head any trace of humor wiped from his face. “I just think it's best to be intentional when it comes to you.”

She feels...strange, almost in over her head.

“That’s nice and all, and I like that you feel that way, I just don’t know why.”  
He thinks for a minute. “I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“I think I need to know before we do anything else.”

“You don’t like to be uncertain about anything. You go out of your way to avoid it.”

She admits to herself that’s fairly accurate. “Where’d you figure that out?”

“Just from listening to you. You get unsure and you quit or go in another direction.”

“What’s that got to do with you?”

“You don’t want to be alone, so you’re not going to leave your boyfriend unless you’re certain there’s something better for you and I didn’t consider until earlier. So, this is me telling you that I’m a sure thing. I’d take care of you. I want to take care of you.”

Beyoncé huffs. “Well, how do you know he doesn’t make me feel certain.”

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten this far.”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Jordan lays her down on her back and climbs over her pulling the covers over his back. She kisses him slow but sure, letting out a quiet gasp and his fingers caress her at a restless and satisfying pace. His teeth nip at the skin of her shoulder and he soothes it over with his lips, her fingers find their way into his hair, rubbing delightfully into his scalp. Slowly, he guides himself into her, a long sigh escaping him and he holds himself there, eyes fluttering shut. 

He has an unfair amount of eyelashes, she thinks over the sound of her own heart beating against her chest. Then his eyes open again, and she’s whining as his fingers restart working her over. Their foreheads touch and he rocks his hips against hers and it sends them both shuddering.

This feels good, she thinks but not what she expected and then she gets curious.

“Are you always this gentle, Mr. Sullivan?”

He stops, an amused grin spreading across his face. “I’m doing this for you.”

“Of course.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t think I look very fragile.”

He sits up again and beckons her into his lap. “Why don’t you show me?”

He runs a hand along the length of him and fearfully, it is a long way down but Beyoncé is nothing if not stubborn so she clenches her fist and bears down, taking him in way less gracefully the second time around.

His arms wrap around her waist and she steadies herself by his shoulders. Her movements are then small and tentative.

“Surely, you don’t think I’m fragile.”

“Oh, shut up and help me.”

It was a mistake to ask that, she finds out. Jordan digs his fingers into her hips and pushes her down while meeting her halfway. It’s not what she had in mind.

“I meant like breathing exercises.” Her voice is strained. 

“It’s in isn’t it?”

“I do not like you.”

He turns serious. “Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head. “No it’s good. I was just going to do the lazy thing and now I have to work.”

“You have me to assist.”

She laughs. “That’s not promising.”

He kisses her neck and guides her against him by the hips. “Don’t say that.”

Her mouth drops open and she allows him to steer her body anyway he pleases, he has the better hang of it she decides as her vision clouds. He grows rougher with his thrusts, placing open mouthed kisses to whatever part of her is closest and sweat soaks their skin. He wants to see her eyes, he sweeps the hair out of her face with a bit too much zeal, pulling it by mistake and she takes pleasure in it, so he doesn’t loosen his grip.

Beyoncé’s hears how embarrassingly loud she is but doesn’t have activity of her limbs to cover her mouth or do much else besides cling to him as their breaths sync together, their bodies moving forcefully like the tides. She goes still as Jordan pushes her past the edge and she thinks she may have actually melted down into a puddle on her comforter, never to be seen again but that’d be okay. Jordan melts down beside her and she thinks life would be a whole lot easier this way.

Jordan lays down and she nestles her way closer to him, overheated but not caring. 

“Hey.”

His eyes are half-shut. “Hi.”

“I may be very fond of you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to hugh dancy for being sexy first of all and for house music for always bein there for me..u are my rocks. my foundation


End file.
